I have written about this before, but when I was about six or seven, there was a small house at the end of my bed. I had constructed it from cardboard and sticky tape, and it housed various action figure toys, a Barbie and a teddy. The house was really constructed for the others, so the teddy didn’t fit in any of the rooms. At night time, he’d sleep outside: which, in the logic of my play, he didn’t mind doing as he was indestructible. He was a friendly alien.
I can remember the provenance of the action figures: getting them for birthdays and Christmas. One came from a cousin in Ireland. But I can’t remember anything about the teddy, other than that he predated all those toys. He may have once filled the traditional teddy bear role, but by then I was hypersensitive about anything that might be perceived as babyish. Yet I also didn’t want to let the teddy go: so, I got around the problem by recasting him.
What put this into my mind was that, recently, Daughter Number Four and Herself went on a weekend trip to visit an old friend and her family. But the night before, there was a crisis. Daughter Number Four had left her teddy behind in her cousin’s house, and it was too late and too far to go and get her. Actually, she’s not a teddy, but a rabbit in a woollen dress. Her name is Rabbit.
Daughter Number Four was not happy about this, bordering on upset. She’s had Rabbit since she was a baby, and Rabbit has slept with her every night since then. We did our best Jazz Hands to prevent it turning into a Major Drama, and she was eventually content to accept that I’d go and get her over the weekend. Rabbit would be waiting when she got home.
Afterwards, when she was asleep, we quietly wondered if this might not be a good thing. Wean her off the dependence a bit.
But after that, when they had gone to Wales, I remembered that Herself still has her teddy. Actually, he’s not a teddy. He’s a donkey. Donnie the Donkey. He doesn’t sleep in our bed. But he’s got a special place in the wardrobe. He’s close by.
In the interests of research, I did a quick poll of sundry other children about this. Daughter Number Two had a teddy, called Teddy. It’s in an attic now. But her partner has a teddy, also called Teddy. This Teddy lives with them.
Daughter Number Three also has a teddy. Called – you’ll never believe this – Teddy. This Teddy still sleeps with her every night.
In scientific terms, a soft toy is known as a transitional object: it can provide emotional security to a child in the absence of a caregiver. But as that child grows into adulthood, those feelings don’t necessarily go away.
The teddy can still offer comfort and a sense of self, simply because the human owner has opted to invest the teddy with that ability.
To some, this might seem childish. But is it a bad thing? It’s not fundamentally different from having affection for a human or a pet. There’s always a danger that the soft toy could be lost, but other than that, a teddy is reliable. Unlike a person, it will never let you down. Our instinct that Daughter Number Four might need to be weaned off hers was perhaps misplaced.
I drove down to get Rabbit over the weekend, and, as had been previously agreed, I allowed her to sit in the front passenger seat – wearing a seat belt, of course – and sent on a picture to confirm her retrieval. And on the way home, I wondered about my own teddy bear. I probably just stopped playing with him. I can’t remember what name I gave him, though I could make a good guess.